Real
by sneetchstar
Summary: Alternate scene from the season two premiere. One-shot.


**A/N: This is a re-imagined scene from 2x01 in which Crane goes to retrieve Abbie from Purgatory. I worked in an element that the showrunners teased, but we didn't get.**

"Crane!" Abbie exclaims, throwing her arms around his shoulders, hugging him fiercely.

"I kept my promise," he softly says, wrapping his arms around her.

"I couldn't find the amulet," she says, starting to pull back out of his embrace. He maintains his hold, gently lifting her to her feet.

"You will no longer require it as we are leaving this place," he says.

She nods, again attempting to move away to no avail. "Um, Crane?"

"Abbie," he sighs, gazing down at her. "I am so sorry. If I could go back and—"

"It was my decision to stay here," she reminds him. "I insisted, remember?"

He smiles, and moves one hand to caress her cheek, tenderly wiping away a tear Abbie didn't realize had slipped out. It is a soft touch. A gentle touch.

A lover's touch.

Her brow furrows, and somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, warning bells are starting to sound.

"Oh, Abbie," he sighs, moving his hand to gently cup the back of her head as he inclines his head towards hers.

_No. We don't do this._ "Crane," she protests, moving her head back while pushing ineffectively at his chest. "What are you...?"

"Abigail," he murmurs, his voice like velvet, "my only thoughts whilst entombed in that box were of you." His fingers splay, caressing the small of her back and his other hand is still in her hair, threading through the long strands. He makes another attempt, even slightly lifting her towards him this time.

The warning bells are much louder now. Abbie reaches for the one thing she know will stop him. "Katrina," she says, his lips inches from hers.

He stills, but only withdraws a little. "What of her?" he casually asks, as if his wife is of no consequence at all.

Abbie's brain goes into overdrive. _Not Crane not Crane not Crane. Be smart, Abbie._ "Well then," she says, forcing her lips to smile as she slides her hands up his chest. _I don't feel his scar. That thing is huge; I would definitely be able to feel it through his shirt._

Crane slyly smiles and leans in again. He is so warm and familiar that it almost makes this difficult for Abbie.

_Almost._

His arms relax, his lips a hair's breadth from hers, and she jerks her knee up – hard – into his groin. She jumps back, and while he is doubled over, she kicks him in the face. He slumps to the ground.

"Lieutenant!"

Abbie's head jerks up to see Crane – _another_ Crane – running towards her.

"Stop!" She holds out her hand, palm out, and he halts immediately, just on the other side of the prone form in a black wool jacket at her feet.

"Miss Mills," Crane says, still breathing heavily. "I have returned for you... as I have promised."

Her heart lurches, but she remains stoic. _Fool me twice._ "Tell me something only you and I know." Her eyes involuntarily drop to the False Crane at her feet.

Crane nods once, following her gaze and understanding immediately what his partner is actually asking him. "The evening of Thanksgiving," he quietly says, his face grave. "We confided our loneliness to one another over a bottle of rum." He takes a cautious step forward, not wishing to alarm her. "We drank to family."

Abbie raises an eyebrow at him.

"To _finding_ family," he amends, remembering his exact words and repeating them using the exact tone in which he originally spoke them. His face still bears the shadows of grief from the things he learned that evening.

Abbie sighs and relaxes, knowing only _her_ Crane would cite such a painfully emotional experience as proof. Only _her_ Crane would bare his soul this way, trusting her enough to allow himself to be vulnerable.

He takes another step closer. "I have the key," he adds, in a whisper so soft Abbie lip-reads more than hears it.

"Crane," she exhales, stepping over the impostor, wrapping her arms around the _real_ Ichabod Crane in a tight hug. _This is he_, Abbie affirms, noting that False Crane didn't – couldn't – duplicate the real Crane's scent. She never realized she knew his scent until this moment.

Crane returns her hug, one large hand cradling her head as is his tendency. "Shall we make our exit before we are discovered?" he asks, leaning back, his hands on her shoulders, holding her respectfully at arms' length.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, please."

"Ah," he exclaims, as though he is remembering something important. He drops his hands and thrusts one fist forward towards her.

She smiles and bumps her fist against his, ending it with a "pow".

He stares, looking puzzled and very mildly affronted.

"I'll show you that other part later," she says, starting to walk around the still-unconscious body on the ground.

"What is this monster—aaurghh!" Crane's question is cut off as False Crane suddenly leaps up and lunges, tackling his doppleganger.

"Crane!"


End file.
